


perchance to dream

by shineyma



Series: walk away [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Post-Episode: s01e09 Repairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 12:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12410685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Jemma can't sleep. [An interlude that might have happened in the age difference soulmates AU (but didn't).]





	perchance to dream

**Author's Note:**

> So my girl JD had a rough day a while ago and I wanted to write her something. And I had a great idea that I TOTALLY FAILED to turn into words because writing is hard. But finally I have succeeded in wording and can share this! Wooo!
> 
> Please note, as mentioned in the summary, this is a might-have-been for this series. It's technically AU, in that it didn't happen, but also...not, in that whether it happened or not doesn't really have any bearing on the main story. If that makes any sense. Whatever, it's late and words are hard.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

Because he’s a ridiculous man with a ridiculous amount of training, Grant’s awake and halfway out of bed in the time it takes Jemma to slide his door open.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she says quickly, hoping to prevent any panic. “Everything’s fine.”

“Jemma?” Apparently taking her word for it, he sinks back onto the bed, blinking against the light she’s letting into his bunk. “What’s up?”

“I…” The words stick in her throat. “That is, I was…”

Oh, she hates this. She hates this _so much_.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks. He’s stopped blinking, eyes presumably adjusted, and gives her a quick once-over. “You look a little…”

He trails off, frowning, but Jemma can fill in the blank with no trouble. She spent long enough scowling into her mirror before she ventured across the cabin to wake him, after all.

She looks _young_. She _is_ young, of course, the sole teenager on a team full of adults, but she’s always thought there’s no reason to _look_ the part, so she’s become quite practiced at avoiding it. Unfortunately, it’s the middle of the night, and without her makeup and carefully coordinated professional wardrobe…

She looks young. Fresh-faced and innocent, with her wide eyes and messy braid and the terror she just can’t shake. Even her last-ditch attempt to distract from her face by tugging her camisole down a bit didn’t do much; without the aid of a good bra, she really doesn’t have enough cleavage to make an impression.

So here she is at her soulmate’s door at two am, looking just as young as she is and feeling even younger.

And what she’s here to ask makes it all the worse.

“Jemma?” Grant prompts. Understandably, as she’s just been standing here silently. “What—?”

“Can I sleep with you?” she asks, all in a rush.

In answer, he only stares.

Jemma swallows down the lump in her throat, eyes stinging with tears. Whether of fear or humiliation, she honestly couldn’t say.

He has so many misgivings about her age—he won’t even be _alone_ with her, never mind touch her the way a soulmate ought—and this can only make them worse. It’s bad enough that he thinks of her as a child; the _last_ thing she wants is to put him in mind of a bloody _toddler_ , a scared little girl who can’t sleep alone.

And yet here she is.

“It’s only,” she says, her voice a bit tremulous, “after what happened on Tuesday, I’ve been having a bit of trouble sleeping. In fact, I haven’t been able to sleep at all. And—and there have been multiple studies about the benefits of proximity to one’s soulmate when it comes to dealing with phobias, so I thought—”

“You haven’t slept since Tuesday?” Grant interrupts, voice sharp. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, what was I supposed to say?” she demands. “‘Excuse me, everyone, I’d just like you to all to know that having the Bus _crash land_ two weeks after I nearly fell to my death is interfering with my ability to sleep, would you all mind terribly if we perhaps transitioned to being based out of an _actual_ bus?’”

She means it to sound mocking—to sound _absurd_ —so as to stand as proof that of course she couldn’t have said anything.

Instead, it sounds practiced (in large part because it _is_ , as she actually has spent several days weighing the likelihood she’d be able to talk Coulson into using a land-based vehicle), and she fears she’s given far too much away. Certainly Grant’s expression suggests as much.

“Jem…”

He sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face—which, while not a very promising sign, at least has the benefit of preventing him from seeing the reaction she has to the nickname. It’s a common one, something she must’ve heard at least a hundred times, yet coming from her soulmate, it sends an embarrassing sort of shiver through her.

Of course, he often has that effect on her. He has _lots_ of effects on her. It’s bloody unfair she seems to have so little effect on him.

But over his slumped shoulders, she can see his window, and even with the shade down, it’s a horrible reminder of the fact that they’re tens of thousands of feet in the air. For a moment she goes cold, hears the roaring wind in her ears, and the floor seems to fall from beneath her feet—

“ _Please_ , Grant,” she begs, yanking herself back to the present. “I’m not asking for—for sex, or anything like that. We can even go out into the lounge, if you don’t want us alone in your bunk. I just…” She’s just tired of being terrified, tired of being _tired_ , tired of the images that rise up every time she closes her eyes and the way she jolts to full awareness, heart racing, at every tiny sound from the engines. “Please.”

With another sigh, Grant stands, and—well. Jemma’s exhausted, but not so exhausted that the sight of her soulmate’s bare torso can’t make her blush. He’s so _fit_ , all sharply defined muscles and relaxed strength, and just because she understands why he won’t have sex with her (or kiss her or hug her or touch her at _all_ ) doesn’t mean she doesn’t _want_ it.

(He hasn’t given her lacking cleavage a second glance. _So_ unfair.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, and her heart sinks. “I didn’t even _think_ —of course you’re having trouble sleeping, between Ford and the virus.”

Jemma perks up a bit. She thought that was an apology for having to reject her, but if he’s feeling guilty for not noticing her plight…

Would it be wrong to take advantage of his guilt?

Well, yes, obviously. Perhaps the better question is, is she willing to do it anyway?

She’s so tired, is the thing. Tired and scared and it took her two tries to cross the cabin to wake him, because the first one was interrupted by a bout of turbulence that had her clinging to a post for five minutes and left her too shaken to move forward.

“All I want is sleep,” she says. It’s not _deliberate_ that it comes out teary, but she can’t deny it probably helps. It makes Grant flinch, at least. “And I know you’re not comfortable with it and it’s wrong of me to ask, but…please.”

Grant takes a single step forward—all that’s necessary to close the distance between them in this tiny bunk—and, frowning, brushes some loose hair away from her face. She holds her breath (such an intimate gesture, it’s more than he’s ever given her, does this mean—?) as he considers her for a long moment.

“Okay,” he says finally, and the breath whooshes out of her. “But just the once, all right? And you get to explain it to Coulson.”

“Of course,” she says at once. “Thank you, Grant.”

His face—does something. She doesn’t know how to describe it, couldn’t quantify it for the life of her, but it doesn’t seem good.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” he says, moving aside and gesturing to the bed. “Come on.”

She’s tempted to push the issue—that was _not_ nothing—but after four days, the prospect of actual sleep is far too strong a draw. Further conversation can wait, preferably for at least twelve hours.

Except no, actually, it can’t.

“Um,” she says. Grant frowns down at her. “Would you mind—if it’s not too much trouble…”

She can’t seem to find the words, but after a second, Grant’s face clears.

“You want me to sleep by the wall?” he asks.

Jemma sighs, relieved. “Yes, please.”

It’s been one of the worst parts of the past week, forcing herself to lie down when she knows there are only a few sheets of metal between her bed and the huge, open sky. A nice soulmate-sized barrier is just the thing to make it easier.

“No problem,” Grant says, and lies down.

Of course, it’s not as simple as it sounds, sleeping together in a bed this small. It takes a bit of doing, but eventually they manage to find a comfortable position: Grant on his back, shoulder to the wall, and Jemma on her side, curled into him with her head on his chest. His nearer arm wraps around her waist, holding her close, and if she were any less tired she’s certain she’d either jump him or die of embarrassment.

As it is, she’s exhausted, and all the encouragement does is make her hum happily.

“Thank you,” she says again, and feels him tense.

“Don’t thank me,” he orders.

It’s bizarre, but…maybe it’s just because they’re so close. There’s so much bare skin on offer, between his shirtlessness and her own camisole and pajama shorts…and forget embarrassment, she would _definitely_ jump him if she were any less tired.

Basically, there’s an extreme amount of skin contact happening, and he’s done his best to avoid any at all since they met. Perhaps he’s just annoyed at himself for letting this happen?

Feeling thankful all over again, she nuzzles closer to him. In the process, her cheek comes to rest on his soulmark, the bright purple spiral that binds them together, and— _something_ moves through her.

It’s not the heat of arousal. It’s sinking into a hot bath at the end of a long day, cocoa and biscuits in front of the fire in winter. It’s _warmth_ , and it floods her veins, thawing all the icy terror that’s settled in her joints.

She came here seeking comfort, and her soulmark—her soul _mate_ —delivers in spades.

Warm and comfortable and unafraid for the first time in weeks, Jemma forgets all about Grant’s odd tension and drops right into sleep.


End file.
